PS 1059 


.B43 


MS 


1849 




Copy 


1 



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'^'Sj .^.e^x^eJi 



Mimmm pobe 



**0 U K TOW N..»* 



BY T. B. BALCH. 



GEORGETOWN.D. C- 
'»^»KIIL HWOH.S, PRINTS*. 



184». 



Gift, 
^ W. L. SliOemaker 
,7 S •06 



« O U R TOWN 



I boast no aong in magic numberi rif9t 
But f et oh Nature! is there naugbt to prlx* 
Familiar in thy bosom scenes of life? 

(CampSeiU 

Thine old familiar face inspires my strain, 
And prompts my harp the Muse's gifts to crave 
Dear native town, where lived my humble sires; 
And where remaining friends and kindred dwell. 

Poets have dsck'd in rhyme their favored towns, 
On Thames, on Trent, or on the antique Rhine; \ 
Or on the Rhone, that darts with rushing sound 
To Leman's half-moon Lake; a water-bird 
That spreads its waves abroad like azure wmgs; 
But what are Keswick, Ayr or Ambleside, (^l.j 
Or regal Windsor, Stoke or Twickenham 
ComparM to ours; for gazing round, methinks, 
When I descend the inclined plane of death, 
My heart will own the chain which binds me fast 
To where these lips first drank the balm of Life, 
And were this town decay'd its mossy stones 
Would yield me precious thought and pensive reit. 

Where now the homes of happy thousands stand 
'Mid roods of earth laid off in garden grounds, 
A nd streets that run o'er .vhat were once wild hills, 
One hundred years ago dense cedars grew; 
But a lone man here strelch'd his lonely tent 
In matted woods: who on a scale reduc'd 
Resembled him who from the Yadkin went [2 ] 

To chase swift deer and plant a sovereign State 
Beyond wheie range the Alleghanies blue. 



T»adh!on i«y, thai Ht who wa« onr sir* 
Did not arrive without hijt faithful do^ 
And well tried gun ihat seldom miss'd its mark 
With nnglinor yo(U besides, well woven nets, ' 
Arid to the schedule we subjoin his pipe 
And axe wherewith to hew; and his strong bow 
And batch of.rrows full as vvhealen sheaf; 
For hoin his bow i^ei cf>u\d an ar/ow send 
As straight as Tell who in an Alpine vale 
An apple halved which Gesler'.s hand had set 
Among the flaxen curls ofTell's own boy. 

Below thos^ sea^ ^^bich stand a Northern row, 
Whose garden, downward fall on sunny slopes 
Y^'l^^^B Ijecomes a kind of table land, 
And on that plat beyond a shadowy doubt 
Uur founder reared his cabin, built of lofrs- 
A nucleus ^n^aJl; but in this very way" * 
Fah-nyr^rast^ ^nd.Rpme itself begkn, 
For did, n,9t shepherd boys h8w o'uta <rh:h 
On Tiber's banks and then of slraw'^^nd repds 
v^onstrnct their huts which in revolving lime 
Gave ua.y to niarbjo dome.? and peasants ruled. 
W here kingsin afte^ a^e^ § wayed Kk^ world. 

To every pr^an Pfopjijous Heaven assigns 
H«s t«s|c: and to thattask adapts the man: 
l;T.pahing zest % s^tran^er modes of lifei 
Ihan others use;, such like to dwell apart 
1 dJ groups arrive to form the social league, 
^o with our ^jrr, who was of stature talf 
And visaj/e spare; of flexile, active limbs, 
VVho lookM on hardships as on idle dreams, 
^r hnr,ebeli« hghi crushed down bv slant feet, 
*«>r he wa? sprung of Scottish peasant blood: 
«is sire had come frofT) one of Fifeshire's vales, 
>ri heather, winnar)^ hawthorn blossoms, rich, 
A scn)f| ,«^i^l|iy;ora3 p^jr^^t^ck. 

At evenin^r hourmv mind has often mn«»pd 
Ahout that kind-of life our fonndc^r lived; 
We he|ir^t limef. his a?v« or hunting horn, 



Or e«tch th. ivr.ng thai .ounded from lii, bow 
Or walch the smoke thai curi'd frnn. „(r i • ' 
C|he.rM in the .,a, by .^. ZZ ,",7;. 

rie heanl lh„no,es of pensive .vlipponAvi M, %3 , 

Cut of il,,-.. stream we may hereafter sing. ' 

Brave Indians once our lown-r.vines po.sess'd 
And o er l hem nnlrVi ..,:.i - . I'-^^'-^'^^ss o 

Or !^ ^'"= '""g d the uainpum bell of rieace 
A^ '' ''u"'! 8^""^^ "f "'«i 'l-parled chief!' 

JJut they are gone! poor wand'ring exiled race ' 
For r T "T' ■■""'' '^^"i'^x'h son. they unf 

Which poLh lif: piif;-: r::.^ "'"•'^'' 

Her crad e hymn the mother fondly chnnnts 
And Sabbath bells ring out a cheer^ful sou d', 
^^nd orijans ch.me. and dulcet family bite. 
Are often louch'd at close orparting^day 

rt is indeed a pleasina truth to k^o^v 

ipf,::f;?i ;-:;;:/.•;-"" • 

Horourfirstseltlerjusdyoough, his land 

Vor cunn,„gused;-l,ke Heaven's ,ra„spare„, i,„h, 

Ud Stales from Carthage down had heen ..s just' 



-fis said thdt InJianf oever fail in thanks 

For favors done; and on a sultry day 

A red man pausM before the settler^s door 

And tsk'd a boon, — a gourd of water cold, 

In lieu of which, be quaff'd a cup of miU, 

And to his tongue that draught was sweeter far 

Than honeycomb wrought out by Hyblian bees, 

When thus that Sylvan being-straightway spoke: 

*'I am, said he, the Prophet of my tribe 

And let nie talk as loud as Summer clouds 

With thunder charg'd — ''White man! this place departf 

Begone at least for one revolving moon, 

One eagle may be strohgpr than the rest, 

B It can he stand a thousand birds of prey ' 

With falons strong and all devouring beaks? 

Know then th^t Indian warriors brave and strong, 

Will seek thy life; and can the sapling tree 

Turn back the hatchet's edae that cats it down? 

Or can spring buds resist the powerful hand 

That rends them off? — or can the purple grape 

Fight with the press by which its juice is crush'd ?— 

Fly, then, for 'tis by flight the bird escapes, 

And by the time you seek these woods again 

The Western Star will lead my tribe away, 

And then these streams, and hills and bird-fraught tree* 

Will all be yours as long as suns shall rise 

And moons go round, or frost and dew descend.'* 

Swift as the light the prophet passed away 

But left a violet hue on all things round ; 

For He by plaintive words had wrapt in gloom 

The settler's hope, and Hope in dark eclipse 

Tvlay swoon away like some celestial orb. 

But quick as thoutrht the settler lone resolved 

To launch his skiff and dash the river down 

And seek for some to share his solitude. 

And does not Love pervade each haunt of Life? 

The heart of man is like the moon when halv'd 

But wants to meet its other beauteous half; 

And when two hearts are joined, oui' silvery life 

Goes round in softness like the Queen of Night; 

And in that skiff our settler homeward brought 

His wood nymph bride; for woman, when .she loves, 



■Can live in cabins or in dungeons (3(irk 
At well as Norman Halls, or bright saloon?; 
And Lalla Rookh was scarcely more care^ss'd ; 
And that lov'd bride like Egypt's fanious Queen 
Rode in her bnrge, and all the river waves 
Bent with the caravans of skifis that came 
Which held the settlers that our founder brought. 
And Ewan sung back to swan in quick response 
As if those pure and blest Potomac birds 
Would all have died upon tliai happy day- 

With such materials did our town begin, 
And step by step assumM the hamlet form, 
'Tdl from its chimnies two score wreaihs of smoke 
Quite freely gushed, when that pure pea-green wave, 
By which it stands, put on its coat ot ice. 
And snows like Lapland's lay along the loofs; 
But wintiy days were chased by vernal suns, 
When better flowers than those of Cashmere's vale 
Would dot the heights, or show their rv:odest leave? 
Among the hollows of the verdant hills, 
As plants are sometime set in gilded bowls. 
Commerce as yet had scarcely fixed a sail 
To leave the town ; noc had it built a wharf, 
Nor cut a sheet, nor had a rumbling wheel 
Borne down the smallest of its pristine plants. 
All was as simple as Arcadian Life. 
No lawyer yet had learned to split a hair, 
. But the first settler solved each knotty point 
As Albert did on Susquehanna's side. 
The people loved and marked their Ruler's stept 
As when some Spanish shepherd gains the peaki 
That crown the Pyrenees; nis milk white flock 
Will climb; or if he turn and sound his horn 
The flock will turn and seek profoundest valet. 

Twas good inde^pd to lead just such a life, 

With toil efaough to sweeten nightly rest, 

And spicy cares that only fragrance lent 

To hours of ease; a kind of golden age 

Through which our hamlet pass'd, when garden spade* 

Shone at the Winter's close, and anglers Sfbed (4*^ 

Each day in all the weeks of balmy May 



From coves and rocks along Potomac'* banks; 

Or look their skiiTi on beauleoua water range 

O'er ihat loved btieuuk which faraway exceeds 

Tlie yellow Tihei*, «»r the bonnie Doon, 

The antique triple Rliine, or blue Moselle. 

And birds in rapt«r« sun^ the live-long day 

And plunged in flight among the Spring perfumes'. 

Or pipe-sounds cros«ed that tide of melody 

Which ebbed and flowed as if the woods were fail 

Of^ingling bells — and shrubs swang to and fro 

Tottering beueath the heavy-laden bees 

That flew both when and where and how th^y pleased* 

And on the Sabbath day one lonely bell 

The group together called, when upward rose 

Some blue eyed German, who in simple tones f5.J 

His message spoke to Patriarchal men 

Whilst mothers held their babes; for at that tiiiie 

The pastor bent ^o low the tree of life 

Thjit held-up babes might almost reach its Triiit ; 

For when he turned tlie leaves ofTruth Divine 

And read his text from off the sacred pa^e 

He sought no gaudy words or tropes of sptrech— 

Angler of men, whose cork was often dVoAVfi'd 

Using all skill to take the golden prey 

Amid the grottos of the Rural sea. 

Such was the time which Commerce nfe'et crfeatips, 

A time which lasted forty happy years, 

When the Town-chief, our good old Founder, die3. 

And his sepulchral rites were duly done 

Not with the pomp which marks the heartless forms^ 

When soldiers, kings, or crested rioblesdiei 

But all the people on that solemn day 

Went from their home to bis, arid oft thie waj^ 

PulPd violets up, for it was April tirtie, 

And strew'd them on his bter,^nd warniest teir^ 

Fell down the cheeks of those who held the spades; 

No word was said; no big guns siiook the Earth; 

Tli^y wrapt the hunter in his huriter'is dre^ 

And laid him down beneath the wilbAV tree^ 

And then went home recounting all his^ deed^. 

The MitelB imaft fijJn|i bF'ttriain fefeign hue» 



The Mu'se must sing of certain foreian hues 
VVhicli sprinkled o'er the town from time to time. 
No exiles came from Cliina or Peru, 
Nor Tartars came, nor lawny Algerines, 
Nor Arabs trained to wield the pointed lance, 
Nor Turks with turbans o'er their haughty brows;,.! j" 
lint Poles have come from Kosciusko's land 
And disappear'd, and men from Erin's isla 
An emerald deem'd, and from the Holland dykes, 
And ofi'the Appennines, and from where the Alps 
Sustain their clambering goats on green grass cribs 
Beside the Avalanche: and from Anglia's lakes 
And vine dress'd France: such fell upon the town 
]n drops and bjenckd with the brooks that roli'd 
To confluence small: but to its vast suiprise 
A siiowerof Sculi fell upon the place, 
Eight years before the bard had seen this Earth, 
A clan soon known by Scotia's tartan stripe 
Who all broke up in their North Eastern shire 
■And here convened a kind ofplaided troop. 
They liked the place but still liked Scotland more, 
And thought our Suns were not by half so bright. 
As those which gilded their bleak misty strand; 
They had a touch of what we call romance 
And oft enquired about our hill-side bees 
And much they talked of Duncan, Scotia's king, 
Of Forres moor, and castled Inverness, 
Of murder done and of the raven's cry, 
Macbeth and of his Lidy's deep designs. 
Their Celtic talk engaged my boyish ear 
Of i^pinie castle and its spacious loch, 
Culloden, Elgin, and of Abbeys old» 
And when our Town moon rose of summer nightf, 
We heard of Lugar, Esk, the Ayr, or Tay, 
Of Yarrow, Nith, or flowering Annandale. 






They talk'd of lochs and burns and braea and glti^i-f 
Of Auld lang syne, and bairns and biggings, birks 
Of bogles, branks, and brigs, and burdies, haughs 
And bumclocks, bykesand byers and mountain firs. 
Of cairns, and cantralps, chanters, clinkumbells, 
Andclachans, clips, cliids, cobles, Philibcgs, 
And clishmacJaver, crambo clink, and kail— - 
2 



10 

Of ehielS) of gowans, coofs, and Highland deer, 
Of Bruar water, and the Fall of Fjers, 
Of CorraLiun, and famous Bannockburn, 
Of Wallace, Bruce, and other Scottish men 
Who did old England's povyer and arms defy; 
And for this clan we cherishM warm respect 
Tho* lude their speech and ditfering from our own. 

The Scuti settled in a compact row [6] 

And tho' that row at present be defaced 

In my young days its gardens wore a gloss 

Like that which shines on plats of Alpine grass; 

It ran close by to where a manse arose; 

And they who lived beyond the Roman wall 

Before they came, liked much to view that manse 

Hemindmg ibem of what they sorrowing left 

Neai Fcrres moor in their own heather land, 

Where they had loved the paddock and the glebe 

And the few sheep their Scottish Pastor owned; 

But from that home my Muse waves off her wing, [8J 

And tells me to abstain: for evil tongues 

Will talk; and critics sharp be sure to say 

Its owner was the bard's respected sire; 

But yet we shun it only as ihe skiff 

That leaves, when passing out, some gold-grain beach 

And from that beach, when coming in, fends off. 

My pilgrim feet have wandered far and wide, 

Far, far beyond the Western settlers' trails 

Where buffalo herds obstruct each sylvan gate 

And horses wild without a bridle roam; 

But thought returns to that remembered manse 

Where praise was loud but prayer exceeding low 

And Sabbath morn and eve alike were sweet. 

But oh how chang'd! "tis now a merchani's house 

Where ripened sheaves and tedded hay are sold 

And buyers come and go from morn to night. 

We could relate a more than Persian Tale 

Or one that might be told on some blest spot 

That skirts Arabia's sand, about the joys 

The simple joys that thrill'd our buoyant hearts, 

In that division of our matchless town 

When clouds were pure and earth itself was light^ 

And twittering swallows filled the morning air 



11 

And long neck'd swans flew up Potomac'd side* 
And boatmen's horns sent forth arrival -sounds 
Amid the chastenM hues of evening hour, 
When brooks helped on the twilight melody. 
Let me describe, although description's power 
Must fail to paint unrivalled joys and scenes. 
All hail! ye wild Virginia hills, that rose 
In prospect near, with glossy cedars crownM 
And dense with ruby deer ; where shelving down, 
And nigh the river, stood a modest inn 
Or ferry house, where boats 'mid cresses gay 
Were chain'd, but when set free they swam the wava 
Like ducks; the eye could see both morn and noon 
The shepherd come and guard his flock across, — 
A flock so soon to fall beneath the knife; 
And the fleet horse would come, well trained to fly 
And reach the goal; and his peculiar dress 
Each boy's attention fix'd, and merchant men; 
And we have seen old soldiers come 
Supported on their staves; and it was good 
To watch the men that crossed from far ofFland^. 
Below that sun, just on the river's lap. 
An island lay, with its North Eastern cape 
Nurse of thick woods, and sweet geranium plants,' 
Which Isle had then a finely sylvan rim, 
A central glade and Southern garden-v/alk, 
Where clumps of boxwood ran in equal rows' 
To where its Southern beach the waves repelled, 
Not far from where the modest mansion sat ; 
And fragrant cowslips, pinks, and daffbdils, 
And holly hocks, and Gallic lilies gay 
Were interspers'd with myriad violets swefet, 
The arboretum of our rising town ; 
Were we possessed of telegraphic power 
We would this isle on carded pictures sertd 
Bffore Victoria's eye; for tho' the orb of day 
Has never set on her extensive realms, 
Her sceptre never touch'd so rich a gem. 
The Scuti said, that \n the Scottish loch 
) We Lomond call, that no ft)ur hundred roods 
i So teem'd with burial grass for pensive sheep 
'Or melons ripe; some say the isle is wrecked ; 
I ^ut on a wreck, how oft has beauty stood? 



13 

There was a man who did the garden tend, 

Who kintfly spoke and that in cellic speech, 

And ask'd me oft a second hour to stay ; 

He was my guide ihrougrh poplar avenues 

And we gained much by following in his wake ; 

One day he stopped; when darting quickly off 

We came direct upon a hedge-row fence, 

*'And this," he said, "is that sepulchral ground 

Wliere pilgrims cease the shoon of life to wear;'* 

When thrice a parrot green called — 'Montague !' 

*'Whom does the parrot call?'' The man replied, 

*'My tartan boy, in Scottish Highlands born — 

A manly lad before he hither carne ; 

He chased the ever fleet and bounding deer 

-And homeward brought his ready captured sprnl 

When Highland steeps were wrapped jn Highlandsnow; 

But here he bowM his young and sinewy knee 

To prostrate shrubs or reared the drooping vine; 

But life was stopp'd ere he became a man, 

And now he lies within that yew tree's shade ; 

This is the plaid he once so [ roudly wore 

In Scotia woven by his mother's hands, 

And whose stripes &c threads to me are priceless things^f'. 

But this sad island scene was but a (oil 

To festive scenes which were enacted oft 

Within the circle of that diamond ring 

Which was in purest water finely set ; 

For young and old delighted there to go 

And spend the day,' and by the setting sun 

Return, when scores of lighf-oar'd boats would shoot 

Across the tranquil waves that intervened. 

On a round hiU our humble school-house stood,, 

To whose sad ruins memory oft returns ; 

For when our books our teacher bade us close 

Each boy rush'd out to write his marble rings, 

And up and down and o'er that hill we flew, 

Glad to escape from learning's rigid rules, 

And homeward play like nimble young gazelles. 

'Tis not decay of which my Muse complains; 

For our small town can now its thousands count. 

And by it stands a city large and v&sl 

Where Senates meet, the seat of power and law, 

Where goats on ivy never yet have brows'd, 



13- 

And maible pillars stand whose waists att deck'd 
"With wreaths that charm the iDelloa eye ol" lasle ^ 
But '(is change that puts a pensive chord 
Into my humhle liarpt^ in me a change. 
For my once raven ringlets all are gray, 
And memory oft expands its bit d -like wing 
To bear us back among departed joys ; 
And hence one line or tvvo may \vc indite 
To that school-room, and all its inm ues dear; 
Tho' not renown'd as Plato's olive hall, 
Or Zeno's porch, or Grecian garden-walks, 
Where Epicurues taught, or Socrates, 
But we remember well the grass grown path 
Which led my steps from my paternal door 
To where it perci.'d, and fears its bell inspir'u ; 
For at its woeful sounds our play was done 
And silence reigned both up and down the hill 
VVhere tops had humm'd and marbles nobly plumpM, 
And we remember its forbidden room 
In which were kept the quadrant and the globes, 
The one terreshial, and ibe ether mnrk'd 
With signs and creatures strange ; and gia's machinee. 
And hovv the spark would fly from arm to arm. 
Aft we stood round to take the wondrous shock. 
We keep no list of all the comrade boys 
That went to School: but some in dn>'U fell, 
And some put to sea in booming ships, 
And my last gaze at them was from the wliarf, 
And some to cotton farms, or westward, weut 
Expecting there to strip bright money trees, 
But ended life by cropping Prairie grass. 
/And of them all, I seem alone ^o live, 
Like some fond bird that vvheels its fondest flight 
In frequent dashes round its ravag'd nest. 

There was ono bey abstracted from us all 

Who seldoni play'd; but seem'd to dwell alone. 

Of wood saloons he was the constant guest, 

Like Grahsme born on the Romantic'cart, 

Or Cowper-like, who at Westminster school 

Was to its ram-like boys a timid fawn. 

Oh, had he lived! this boy of shrubs and tree« 



14 

Mig^U now bf^ ciamouring with his music sheTL 
HedieW!, and then arrajed in crape and band 
We followed on his slowly mourning hearse. 
'J'hus Poets droop, and genius-biossonns fall 
As foliage offerings round the dying root. 
Haid,ever hard, has been the Poet's lot. * 

VVhilsl oiliers crave and find Peruvian gold 
He only asks sonne plain sequester'd turf 
liesel with herbs or f:pangled o'er with inosa 
And on the oblong speclrnnn of his grave 
That violet hues should o'er all hues prevails 

My pencil thus has feebly tried to paint 

What our old town has been in days of yore 

And some few changes which have taken place 

Since I a satchelled boy declined my nouns 

Or else put thro' my Greek and Latin verbs — 

Or on my slate wrought sums of large extent 

And then depicted dogs and birds and mules; 

The place is chang'd: on this we must insist; 

D.m are the objects which it now presents, 

And yet these objects stand just where they stoodj 

Tis true the orchard old has disappeared 

Long, long ago, once filled with juicy fruit 

Where boys would climb and shake the laden bought 

Whilst we looked up to catch the falling plums; 

For the red plum besides the deep blue grape 

Were mixed wiih apples and the Persian[peach; 

But now its sylvan glories all are fled, 

And not one blossom, leaf or stump remains. 

Huge buildings stand where once we set our traps, 
That brook is aich'd that softly talked along 
With silver voice; and when the grey dawn comes, 
Peasants and townsman meet to buy and sell 
Above the stones on which its waters chimed. 
That Inn looks dingy that oncelook'd so bright, 
And shallops all and boats and slim canoes 
Seem moored at headlands, capes, and wa:er marks, 
And Analostan halved in light and shade 
Seems now all shade, and I a hermit stand 
Among its glades, drest out In my gray beard 



15 

And snow-like locks, and pensive, gaze arounJ 
At woodland caves, once, once, my chief delighi! 

Strangers hnve conne, and doors seem boiled fa^t 

That once all open stood: and hands that gras^pM 

This one of mine, in (ormal distance wave; 

Old men are carried to their churchyard graves 

Who olfen liaiied me when a kirlled boy, 

And gave me shells, and I a sexton stRnd 

To wield the spade o'er evanescent joys. 

What cMice stood high on earthly beauty's scale 

May fade awny, and landscapes all grow dim, 

But heavenly hope thrusts out its tasselled wand 

From clouds that curl all round our earthly hopes. 

Long lov'd and Native Town, farewell ! farewell ! 

On all thy hills these limbs of mine have lain, 

But now ujy home is in the mountain blue; 

Where peasarl men reap down their locks of hay j 

Dear grange it is where stands my rustic home, 

But here each plat and lane and mound and wall 

Recalls the past: one retrospective glance 

Has drawn my shell from Memory's youthful sea> 

But should some bard arise to sing this spot 

With bolder harp, then, then the hand thai plays 

This lute of mme, of all the hands in town. 

For him wi.l be the first to weave the wreath 

And crown him well, as Aiqua's bard was crownM. 

Oh Town of Towns, once more, once more, adieu t 
O'er all thy space may heaven's best blessings fall 
From hills and streams that nobly gird thee round 
To thy most central rood of pavement stone ; 
Tn all thy kirks may choisest praise resound 
And virtiie ever ride in chariots bright, 
And prostrate vice beneath her glowing wheels. 
On Thee may Spring its earliest buds bestow 
And all thy gardens smile in summer bloom, 
And Autumn soon disperse its fading lints. 
And Winter soon dissolve its sparkling shroud. 
Thus may the seasons wind from age to age 
And all thy people be their happy guests, 



.'6 

Borne round and rouni in this Arcadian world, 
'I'here h^ve been bards who scornM the sacred spots 
Thcil gave them birlh; and Byron's hivvless liarp 
CharmM Pirates, Pachas, Turks, and gondoliers, 
Hut not old England's lanes, wherCji^easauls trim 
The good green hedge adorned with glossy flowers, 
And milkmaids sing along the grassy downs; 
But Western Greece composed his limbs to rest 
An J foreicrn hands look down his soldier plume 
And foreign guns annouiic'd his spirit's flight. 
But when my feet their pilgrim tasks have done 
And Diath tbe Huntsman shall his chase begin 
i<\)r Him who writes: at his first bugle sound 
Those feet would swiftly leave ihe mountain's blue 
And scour all woods and grounds that intervene 
To reach my youthful haunts ; and 1 would die 
Where gay and convex clouds still gently fall 
Round waves that backward send their balmy clouds^ 
To where they hang; whiJsi swans in double rows 
Pass up between the sky and tree green waves, 
And where the heavenly Arch runs softly round 
The town below, far out to sloping hills. 
Within this rounded temple let me die, 
And as when bruised the lowly violet yields 
Small grains of gold, so may my pensive fate 
Enrich the friends my heart has fondly loved, 
Ai.id add one spice of fiagrance to my native air! 



NOTES 



(i) "But what are Keswick, Ayr, or Ambleside?*, 



Keswick in the snire of Cumberland, was the residence of 
Southey, who shewed his sense in living three hundred miles 
irom London. The town is located in a vale near the river 
Greta, and the Poet's House was called Greta Hall. It gives 
me pleasure to know that any bard ever owned a Hall; and 
Southey left £12,000. The scenery about Kes\yick consisting 
of Lake and JMountain has been much admired, but not more 
so than that of our town. SSouthey wrote poetry in the shad- 
ow of Skiddaw whilst his neighbors were engaged in manu- 
facturing flarinfels. Burns was born about two miles irom the 
town of Ayr. The place is situated among sands and the 
people manufacture leather and soap, an employment rather 
Tinpoetical. Ambleside is a small town in Westmoreland 
where woolens are made. *Tis on the Rotha river which emp- 
ties into Windermere. The Rotha would make a poor show 
by the side of our Potomac. Rydal Mount, the cottage ot 
Wordsworthjis about two miles from Ambleside. Lord Byron 
was very caustic in his criticism upon the verses of Words- 
worth, and indeed many of them might be advantageously 
buried in the woollens of the town, or in the tomb of the C ap- 
ulets. At all events in this line we have only expressed the 
food affection which every man feels for his native spot. 



(3) ^'Resembled him who from the Yadkin went." 



Jol. George Beall was probably the first Settler of George- 
town. Hewas the son of Ninian, who came either from Fife- 
shire or I>iimbarton, and jWho settled on Patuxent. Our first 
settler bore, at least in his habits, some points of resemblance 
to Daniel Boone who was born a hundredyears before at Brig- 
3 ' * 



18 

tol, onlfee Delaware but from thence went to the Peciee ofx. 
Yftdkin riverain South Carolina, so that in his emigration tfD 
Kentucky this bold adventurer had several mountains tocros^ 

(3) "Cheered in tlie day by swans, but all night long 
He heard the notes of pensive whip-poor-wills." 

,f Potomac is said in the Indian language to mean "Kiver cf 
"Jvvans." Even of late years the writer has seen those beautif'il 
birds terminating their pilgrimage up the river at Analosfan 
Island. But it is piobdble that the Potomac received its name 
somewhere near its mouth, where the swans to this day are 
very numerous. The whippoorwill sjrgsall night^even now, 
contiguously to Georgetown. Its song is uniform. £s every 
ornithologist knows; but its speckles render it an interesting 
bird to the Poet. 



(4) ''A kind of golden age 

Through which our hamlet pass'd." 

All imaginative men are fond of anticipating some happy 
peviod of the world, or felicitous state of society never yet 
realised. This is strikingly exemplified in the Pollio of Vir- 
gil. This age.ii it ever arrive, will not begin in London, cr 
Pekin, or Canton, but in places less populous. Here, hawev- 
er, we have looked back to find such a time so far as our 
town is concerned. 



(5) "When upward rose 
Some blue-eyed German." 

The sentiment here expressed was suggested- by thwfaet that 
a German Church, was the first building of the kir^d reared in 
Georgetown. It stood up High street near our G^av^ yard. 
We are not displeased at the Dutch sprinkling over our place. 
G'.rmany is perhaps the most learned country. in the world, 
though not the most inventive and original. We are sorry to 
say that Goethe and Schiller were a couple of deists; but Klop- 
stock, who lived near Hambuig.wrote the poem called Mes- 
siah./' "The blue eyed German^' is an expression which oc- 
curs m Gerttude of Wyoming. 

(6) "The Scuti settled in a compact row." 

The colony of Scotch here spoken of, arrived in Georgetown 
in 1785. They were a valuable accession to our population. 



19 

They bought a row of lots and bailt on them. I used in my 
boyish days to delight in their conversation about Scotland. — 
Old Mrs. George Thompson died a year or two since consid- 
erably above eighty, a very excellent and venerabJe woman. — 
She had a warm heart and a Scottish imagination. Iiihe-bore 
prosperity without pride and, adversity willio.ut murmuring, — 
David English has lately told me that old Scotch Row has been 
condemned by the Corporation, and ordered to be torn doWn. 
This may be right; but the Phce'iix will arise from its ashes. 
The raosigracelul works of Art have perished at Athens, but 
my cherished recollections of Scotch row are beyond the pow- 
tT of any municipal authority. 

7) ''And his sepulchral rites were duly done," ^ 

In the close of the Poem, the writer has expressed . a' wish 
to be buried in the place of his nativity. He" is inclined to 
retract this wish, however, when he remembers the kind of 
cemeteries in which people are buried in Georgetown, for in 
them taste is woefully wanting. We do rot see why George- 
town cannot lay off' as neat a cemetery as Boston or Philadel- 
}>hia. Col. Morton and the writer have more than once talked 
over this matter. ♦ 



(8) "But from that home my Muse waves off her 



The reason why the Muse is so shy about the Manse jbi^j et 
when the writer publiEhed his Chronicles some years since 
the wiseacres ol Georgetown thought that too much was said 
about that house. This may be true; but in that species of 
writing it is usual to fix on the simplest objects. Lvery one 
knows that Oliver Goldsmith has written of his brother's Rec- 
tory at Lishoy, in Ireland, which Col. Napier's improve- 
ments probably destroyed. Lord Nelson and Addison were 
born in a Rectory and so was John Wesley. Crabbe, L. Rich- 
mond, and Covvper all wrote in such establishments. JBut 
the English Rectory is not so interesting as the Scottish 
Manse, for reasons which it is needless to give at present.— 
Robertson, the Historian, was reared in one of these lowly 
dwellings in Scotland; and the same is true of Thopipson, 
Armstrong, and Mickle, the translator of the Luciad. Butthe 
writer does not intend to answer any objections to this Poem. 
If the people are pleased, the writer would be gratified, but 
their displeasure is something which he can't help. It is unusual 
we admit, at the end of a Poem to append any thing in the shape 
of a dedication, but since writing it, we have seen a circum- 
stance stated in the papers which has determined us to in- 
scribe this slight ellusioD, the producti9n of a leisure week, 



To VV. W. CORCORAN, E«Q. 
SiR:-<^Though we were born and reared in the same 
town, some disparity in years may be the reason why 
oar 'acquaintance has been entirely transient. But 
yo^r munifkent donation of $10,000 to the poor of 
Georgetown has won my admiration. The investment 
reflects the highest credit on your understanding, and 
in consequence of it, the Author of this Poem requests 
/OH to accept it as a tribute of his respect. It would 
add much to the happiness of the place if all its natives 
who shall be crowned with prosperity would aid its 
^ublic Institutions. In this respect you have set a 
vobieeiample to be imitated, we hope, in future time. 



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